My Father, the Pirate
by Lizzielollipop186
Summary: On his last day ashore, Will and Elizabeth conceived. Twins - Lucia and Trace. All Lucia wants is to meet her father. And when a pirate promises the nine year old that he can take her to him, she ignorantly goes with him. I own nothing.
1. From Jack Sparrow

She watched her brother, wondering if that was what her father looked like. Her brother was, after all, a boy, and probably closest to resembling him. But she knew that her father and her brother were different. She watched her brother sitting there, in a rocking chair too big for him, writing his lessons in his book. She couldn't picture her father writing lessons. He was too busy with swords.

She just sat there, though. She often daydreamed about her and her father, side by side, fighting evil. Just like the stories her mother would tell her when she couldn't sleep. Stories of her father cutting open his hand to free cursed pirates. Or when he fought with a man name Jack for a key. Or, more recently, the story of her father being saved by being killed. It was all rather confusing. Especially for a nine year old.

_Soon to be ten year old_, she reminded herself giddily. So giddily, it caused her to giggle. Her brother looked up from his studies.

"What are you smirking about?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow.

"Our birthday's coming up, Trace. Our _tenth birthday! _I'm excited, is that so wrong?" she hoped he would reply with a smile, or a nod. But he was different than her, twin or not.

He rolled his eyes and went back to writing, not looking at her as he spoke. "You're not excited about the birthday itself so much as the happening on that day." She watched him poke his tongue out as he finished a sentence.

Then, she got defensive. "I _am_ excited about meeting Father. I'm ashamed that you're not." She crossed her arms and stared down at her unwritten in lessons book.

She touched a nerve within Trace. "Lucia!" he hissed under his breath, glancing around hoping that Mother wouldn't come in. "How dare you? You know I'm excited. It's just I'm not going to drop everything, like my studies, in anticipation for his return. You should consider it as well." He nodded towards the empty book in her lap and sat back.

She stuck her head in the air matter-of-factly. "_I'm_ going to be a pirate with father one day. You'll see." She stood up, leaving her studies book behind. And leaving Trace to shake his head at her as she walked on.

That night, Trace slept still and soundly as he always did, but Lucia was awake in her bed. She stared at the ceiling, but she was watching something else: her father teaching her to handle a sword. These thoughts were always so vivid. She had details that she made sure were there every time she thought of him. Always, he would take her small hand in his. Always, he would sneak her some trousers and they would laugh at her rebellion. Always, he would kiss her good night and call her Lucy.

She wondered if Trace ever thought of such things.

Her wondering was cut short, though, when she heard quick footsteps in the hall. Then down the stairs. Then to open the door.

Instinctively, she jumped from her bed, (quietly so as not to wake Trace). She opened the door while whispering a prayer that it wouldn't creak, and went to the grand stairwell with a last glance at Trace. He still slept soundly.

She heard voices at first. To hear better, she sat against the banister, holding a cold wooden support in each hand. She heard her mothers voice.

"What are you doing here?" her mother hissed quietly. _Hmm, _Lucy thought to herself, _that's where Trace gets it._

"The day's nearing, love. Had to be here, now didn't I? Couldn't miss William's grand return." An unfamiliar man's voice floated upward. He wasn't making much of an effort to keep his voice quiet. He had said her father's name. He knew her father. She pressed her head against the banister, suddenly even more interested.

"Shhh, Jack!" Lucy's eyes popped open at the sound of the name. Jack. The man from the stories. The man who knew her father. The pirate.

Lucy found her curious pulling her to her feet and dragging her down the stairs, cautiously. Her mother and the man spoke more, but she wasn't listening anymore. Not focusing. Too occupied trying to make it quietly down the stairs.

She reached the fifth step from the bottom. Lucy could just barely see her mother's face behind a tall man with dark long hair. She knew he was a pirate because the smell of him was terrible. Then, Lucy found her voice

"Hello." She smiled and bounced off the last step.

The pirate named Jack and her mother stopped talking. Her mother looked at her with large eyes, and the man slowly turned.

"Who are you?" He raised an eyebrow, staring down Lucy, finally turning the last pivot. He had a mustache that curved ever so slightly at its tips. A cloth was wrapped around the tip of his head. He looked pretty much like she thought a pirate should look like. She found herself hoping her father looked better.

"I'm Lucia Turner. You know my father." She stood her ground, no matter how close she was to it. Jack stifled a laugh, and turned back around to Elizabeth.

"Well," he looked at Elizabeth but Elizabeth looked at Lucy, "you didn't mention _that_." He jerked his head back to Lucy. Her mother stayed silent. So Lucy spoke up.

"It's not just me." Lucy walked around the pirate named Jack toward her mother, so she could face him. "I've got a brother named Trace." He looked at her.

"Ah." He smiled again. _He sure smiles a lot, _Lucy thought to herself, and couldn't help but picture her father's smile. "And I suppose your tenth birthday would be coming up soon, then wouldn't it?" He leaned down to her size. Lucy let the proud and surprised grin take over her expression. Elizabeth came back to her self.

"Jack." She grabbed his arm. He stood back up to face Elizabeth so quickly Lucy thought she was going to tumble. "Not here. We can discuss this tomorrow." She said all these things through her teeth. It made Lucy nervous.

"Is it such a problem that I'd like to get to know the children of William Turner?" Jack raised his eyebrow again. He did that a lot as well.

"At this hour, yes." Elizabeth's eyes bored into his, almost as if persuasion was beaming out of them.

They all stayed silent for a long moment. Lucy looked up from Jack the Pirate to her mother. They still stared at each other.

Then finally, Jack slowly pulled his arm from Elizabeth's grasp.

"Tomorrow, then." He nodded towards Elizabeth's. Then to Lucy, before he turned and walked out the door. As the door clicked shut, Trace came out of the room he and Lucy shared, rubbing his eye.

"What's going on?" His hair was sticking up in strange places. Elizabeth and Lucy looked at each other.

"Uhm, nothing, Trace, dear." Elizabeth looked up at him. "Just go back to sleep, I'll explain in the morning." Trace, still half-asleep, nodded groggily and went back through the door.

Lucy looked back at Elizabeth. "Was that Jack the Pirate?" Lucy didn't bother to hide the excitement in her voice, but Elizabeth looked warily at her.

"Lucia, we must talk." Elizabeth waited for no questions. She took Lucy's hand and pulled her into the next room, lit a candle, and sat her daughter down.

"Mommy," Lucy began, "why did you make him leave?" her mother couldn't seem to meet her eyes. But Elizabeth spoke anyway.

"You and your brother need to know something about your father." She stated quietly. "And I need you to here it from me, not Jack Sparrow."


	2. Conclusive

Jack Sparrow told Elizabeth that he would return tomorrow. He truly had no intention of coming back. He felt a need to find the Flying Dutchman, and its captain who indeed, surprisingly enough, was a father.

He thought about how much the little girl resembled William. The hair, brown and waved ever so slightly. The eyes, also brown, with such thoughtful simplicity. All of that child was William. Jack could only imagine the boy. Probably a spitting image of Turner.

Jack though about all these things as he neared the massive ship he "borrowed". He knew enough to find a shipwreck- one bad enough to possibly have lives claimed by the sea. He would find the soul-ferrying ship there. He would start east, where storms were supposed to be terrible at the time. Oh yes, Jack Sparrow would find William Turner. And would give him the good news that he had a son and a daughter, and would try not to blurt out "I didn't think you had it in you, boy."

Lucia slammed her bedroom door, waking Trace.

"What's the matter with you?" he sat straight up in bed, all the sleepiness startled out of him. Lucia was pacing, kicking things every now and then.

"He's not staying." She kept muttering. Trace thought he saw tears on his sister's face. This frightened him. Of the two of them, Lucy was the stronger, braver one. She was always prattling on about being a pirate, or sword fighting. He couldn't remember ever seeing her cry.

"Who's not staying, Lucy?" he asked in a cautious, quiet tone. Lucia abruptly turned on her heels and started at him. Trace backed up against the headboard of his bed. He was terrified of his sister.

"Father, you idiot!" Lucia was screaming at him. She would surely wake Mother. "Father will be here for one _BLOODY_ day and then he leaves again!" She burst into tears and collapsed onto Trace's bed. She sobbed into her hands. Trace hesitantly put his hand on her back. She didn't protest. Only cried more.

"What-" Trace held back his own tears. He wouldn't cry. It was his turn to be strong. "What are you talking about?" Lucy heaved harder. Trace waited for her to reply.

"Father, he's-" sniff, "he's coming for a day. Then-" sniff, "at sunset he's leaving again for-" sniff, "another ten years." Sobbing. She just continued to sob.

Trace took his time to process what she had just said. Their mother never did give any details on their father's return. All she said was that when they turned ten, he'd be back. He and Lucia both were under the impression that he would be staying home with them, so they'd have a family. Not just "The twins and their mother".

But Trace had never looked forward to the day like Lucy did. She was excited to meet the father she never met. Trace wasn't happy about knowing the man who abandoned them. Elizabeth said he was working, doing the hardest job of all. He was always on the sea because of this work. Trace not-so secretly wished he would just stay there. It would be nice to have a father, but not one who had left him, his mother, and his sister.

But now, Trace had mixed feelings. As his sister made no attempt to hide her pain, as he patted her back, he considered what he himself was feeling. The man they were talking about was indeed the man who he loathed, but all the same respected. Then again, this man was also their father. And this _had_ meant a lot to Lucia. Trace wanted to cry.

Instead, Trace got up, telling Lucy he was going to get her a glass of water, and left the room. He had some interrogating to do. His mother was going to tell him everything.

He found her in the common room. A candle was almost burnt out. She was shaking a little. Probably crying.

She didn't look at him when he entered the room. She stared at the candle. Trace sat in the chair Lucia had occupied just minutes before.

"Mom?" he tried to catch her eyes. They flickered towards him, then back to the candle. She had been crying.

"Trace, dear," she sighed towards the small sad waxy lump that was the candle, "it's late." He noticed that she had not told him to go to bed, rather it seemed like she was just stating a fact: she was tired and not in the mood to share this story again. Trace didn't care.

"Tell me, Mom." He was surprised at the assertiveness in his voice. "Tell me." It angered him that she still would not look up. And the candle was dimming.

"He's not staying, Trace." her tone was emotionless. He couldn't blame her. He was only nine, and he already knew that emotions just got in the way.

"I know that. Tell me, does he even know about us?" Trace continued to burn his eyes into her unresponsive ones. She winced at this question, though. That one human moment in his mother answered him before she did.

"No." She suddenly choked back more tears. She cupped her hand of her mouth.

"Why?" Trace didn't mean to sound as angry as he did, but he couldn't help it.  
She wiped her eyes and shook her head. "You don't understand." She told him miserably.

Anger flooded the small boy, and it couldn't be contained. He jumped from his seat.

"_Make _me understand!" He yelled down at his mother. She wouldn't look at him, like before. Trace knew he wouldn't frighten her into telling him everything. He was small and she was of the higher superior. But he could hurt her. Oh yes, Trace Turner knew he could use every lie that Elizabeth fed him and his sister against her. And now, vulnerable and crying, he could get her to say anything.

Trace, at that time, still standing, slowly returned to his seat. Elizabeth's red, puffy eyes met his once he hit the chair.

"All right." Her words were quiet and slow.

Elizabeth proceeded to tell Trace everything she had told Lucia just thirty minutes before. She explained that ordinary letters could not be sent to the Flying Dutchman, (the ship your father commands), and that the only means of communication was boarding said vessel. She told him the stories she had told the twins before, only in greater detail, (your grandfather is still on that ship with your father. Your father did perform treason, but in end, it helped us all. Your father was a blacksmith, but a pirate by heart and blood). And, perhaps the most dreaded, she told her small, confused son that no, his father would not be staying but one day. Then back to the sea for another ten years.

Trace stayed silent through this all. He tried several ways to convert this story in his mind to something better, but in the end the truth was laid bare. His father was a better man than he had given him credit for. And now that he wants to meet him, he can't. It takes more than one day to get to know a person. This wasn't fair.

Then, suddenly and randomly, he stopped his mother. "Who was that man?" He looked at her face with such innocent curiosity then that Elizabeth wanted to stop talking.

She bit her lip, as if actually considering not telling him. But, in the end, decided it was better for him if she did. "His name is Jack Sparrow." She fought back the urge to say "Captain" and "The pirate".

Trace considered this. The name was familiar. "Jack Sparrow," he inquired, "the man from the stories? The man who sailed with-"

"Your father." Elizabeth finished. "Yes." She, perhaps the first time that night, really looked into her son's eyes. She couldn't read those gray cloudy eyes that so much resembled her own. They were unforgiving, but not cold. She could understand his frustration. It enhanced her pain.

Trace finally sighed. He stood up. Elizabeth did the same. "I've got to get Lucy a glass of water." Elizabeth didn't follow her son. She felt sick. Sick in a strange, happy, conclusive way.


	3. What You Want

He was in luck. A rather morbid sense of it, of course, but luck all the same. Jack's eyes rolled over a ship, or what was left of it. Boards floated in the surrounding water. Men laid over barrels, a few of them still trying to keep their balance. The rest, however, just simply strewn around. Dead. _Good._

Jack dropped himself into the row boat. In moments, a ship would arrive at the scene. A ship which Jack Sparrow had not seen for close to ten years. A ship he used to fear. A ship know only as the Flying Dutchman. With its captain. The father. _This will be fun, _Jack thought as he neared the remains, his small boat rocking.

By this time, as he stepped out of the rowboat and onto a rock the former ship must have run aground on, Trace Turner was sleeping restlessly, Lucia doing the same. Elizabeth was in her bed as well, but not sleeping. Not tonight.

Jack's boots slid underneath him. He regained his balance on the slimy rock and moved forward. He heard a distant rumbling sound. Just barely existent. Suddenly, he turned around to see a mouth with unforgiving jagged teeth shoot out of the ocean, followed by sails, a deck, and the little trimmings of what was the Flying Dutchman: Ferry to the next World. Jack squinted and saw at the wheel, Bill Turner dripped with water but kept his eyes straight. Bill Turner was still the only crewman to the ship.

The massive vessel neared the wreck, Jack standing in the middle, before coming to a gradual stop yards away. He smirked as he finally saw that next the the lone crewman, there was Will Turner, looking practically the same since Jack left him to produce twins on an island. Of course, he didn't know that. Yet.

Bill Turner then shouted something indistinct to Jack's far away ears to Will. Will must have nodded because then the ship began to move even closer. Jack stayed still, allowing William Turner to savor these last moments as a man with no family responsibilities. He found himself still smirking.

The Flying Dutchman came to its final stop. That was when William Turner spotted with wide eyes the last person he ever expected to see.

Jack took off his hat and waved it once in the air. He laughed at the expression on Will's face, and well as on Bootstrap-Bill's face. Without taking his eyes off Jack, Will moved to the starboard side of the ship and let down a rope. Jack nodded to himself. He hopped back in his pathetically small boat and rowed over, thinking of how exactly to word this.

The rowboat bumped into the Flying Dutchman once, twice, before Jack finally got a good enough grip on the line cast by the father, as he kept referring to Will as in his mind. He climbed it with haste, surprising himself with his strength to perform such an act. He was met by an arm, attached to William Turner, father of two.

Silently, Will pulled Jack over the edge. Jack landed on his two feet, and they stared at each other. Neither of them really looked any different to each other. And, when he spoke, Will didn't sound any different at all.

"Jack." He said this in a way that seemed like he was realizing the truth of this by saying the name. Jack smiled and held out his arms.

"In the flesh." He replied. He let his arms drop. Will smiled, but it wasn't the kind of smile that you gave when you found something witty or funny. No, this smile didn't touch his eyes. Will was more confused than he had ever been.

"I see that." He stood still. "What are you doing here?" His tone wasn't exactly rejecting, but it wasn't said with the pleasant surprise that Jack wasn't expecting anyway.

"Well," Jack took steps toward Will. Will took his own steps backward in spite of himself. This didn't bother Jack. "I bring news, dear William. Or, congratulations, more of." Will's expression flickered. Bill Turner stayed by the wheel, but Jack knew he was listening.

Will didn't respond, so Jack continued. "Tell me, do you remember your last day on the beach?" Jack's eyebrow raised. If it was brighter out, he probably would have seen the faint shade of pink the poured into Will's face. Will silently thanked all that was good for the lack of sun.

Instead of talking, yet again, Will just nodded. He stared at Jack, who's grimy smile wasn't hidden in the least.

"I believe you do, William." Jack's words began to speed up with the rising excitement. "Because now, back in Port Whatever, your bonny lass isn't alone. Mate," Jack leaned against the ledge of the ship, "you got yourself a boy... and a girl."

With these words, a hundred things ran through Will at once. If what he thought Jack was trying to say was true, then he was a father. He had a son and a daughter. He could just faintly picture them: the son who would always ask questions regarding swords and piracy. The daughter who would be true to her studies and be a beautiful lady like her mother. The boy's name would be something like "Thomas or Travon". Something strong and honest. A good solid name to describe independence. His daughter's name would have a softer ring to it like "Leah or Laney". Something that would match the dark blonde curls like her mother's. They were the Turner family and they were his-

Then, Will saddened. He realized that their names wouldn't be the names he liked most. His son may not be interested in being a pirate and his daughter may not be interested in her studies. But he didn't know. Because they were not his. He hadn't been there to name them or to raise them. He wasn't a father. He was a man who loved their mother. And that just didn't seem like enough.

Jack knew, though. Jack had apparently met them. Jack knew them. "Jack!" Will looked at him. "What are their names? Do you know?" That was just the first question. If Will had children, he needed to know everything. And if the only person he had contact with knew them, the questions would not stop.

Jack considered about twenty names in his mind. _What were those kids' names?_ He cursed his memory. Or lack of. He blurted out the first names that came to mind. "Er, the boy was L...Lucas. And the girl was, er... Tabitha. Yes, that was it." He was such a liar. But, Will didn't know any different. So it didn't matter. He looked convinced.

"Lucas and Tabitha." Will whispered to himself. Wouldn't have been his first choice, but then, he didn't have a say in it, did he?

"What are they like, Jack," his eyes were painfully hopeful. Jack was loving every minute of this, "do you know? What do they look-"

"Are you not returning tomorrow?" Jack asked him, knowing the answer already. For a moment, it almost looked like Will had forgotten the long awaited day. Suddenly, his eyes lit up.

"Jack," for the first time, William Turner smiled that night. "Jack, thank you." He surprised Jack then by grabbing his hand and shaking it. How unpirate like.

"For what, William?" Jack sighed.

"For telling me." Will was still smiling. Then, when he realized he was still wagging Jack's arm like he was, awkwardly cleared his throat and dropped it.

"Well," Will turned away a bit, "you should probably go now. I've got...things to do." Without another word, Jack jumped from the boat into the water. Will wasn't concerned and instead, went on doing his job with a lot on his mind. Will was excited.

~With her bundle tucked under her arm, and her hair tied back, Lucia quietly left her home for the port. She was going to find her father. No one was to stop her.

She would turn ten tomorrow, and if so, then her father's ship should be close to land. She planned to find said ship, stow away on it, and live with the father she needed to know. A big, almost impossible idea for a ten year old, but if both of her parents had taught her anything, it was to keep your mind on what you want.


	4. Laughing

_ Mommy,_

_I need to find him. I'll be back when I have the closure I need. I'm more like my father, anyway. I am sorry for that. I'm sorry I couldn't be the way you needed me to be. I'm sorry I left like this. I'm sorry that life here isn't enough for me. But I'm not sorry that I'm different. And I'm especially not sorry that I must make this journey. Tell Trace to stay out of my things. And, don't worry. I'll be back._

_ Lucia W. Turner_

_Oh, and happy birthday to me._

Elizabeth's eyes were stinging by the time she got to her daughter's name in handwriting that was scratchy, but not illegible. She had already sent the serving men out to search for her, but she knew that it was pointless. Lucy was right. She was indeed more like her father. And since this was the case, there really was no stopping her. She knew what she wanted. She was going to get it.

Trace was sitting next to her in the grass, his face buried in a book. Yes, this was normal Trace behavior. But Elizabeth knew that the reason he refused to look up was because he didn't want to show his mother just how emotionally vulnerable he was at that moment. Thinking of her child's pain, she clutched the note from her daughter closer to her chest.

They waited in silence. They had waited in silence for ten years, and that wasn't going to change now. The only difference here was that the truth of everything hung in the air, almost suffocating them.

The sun was almost up now. Orange had begun to deepen over the ocean's horizon. She couldn't imagine what Trace was thinking. In a few moments, he would meet his father. In a few moments also, though, he would witness his mother miserably tell his father about how his sister had run away from home. This was Trace's tenth birthday. This was supposed to be an amazing day, to be shared with him, his sister, and his father. Trace must have felt awful.

But no one could tell. Because his face showed no emotion.

At last, while Elizabeth was lost in thought, a mass on the horizon began to take on the shape of a ship. When she saw this, Elizabeth's breath caught. _It's really him_, she thought to herself and looked down at her son, who had also seen the figure. His face, finally, was showing signs of disbelief and overwhelmed happiness.

Then, she felt the familiar moistness in her eyes again. Except this time, she knew they were for joy. That so much satisfaction could not fit into any person, so some of it would need to escape. So she let herself cry. Trace stood up, still staring out on the ocean.

It was Will. Elizabeth stood up as well, one hand on Trace's shoulder, and one covering her mouth. She could actually see the man she married ten years ago on a ship in the middle of a storm so fierce, none of them knew if they would make it. She could see him, but she couldn't move. Even with how close he was now. Close enough to make out his features: perfect and not aged. His ship came to a stop a ways from the beach. Elizabeth was barely aware of her feet moving beneath her. Moving so quickly, in fact, she thought she may not be able to stop. Trace stayed planted, still in shock.

She hit the water, though it didn't slow her at all. She wasn't paying attention to anything except him getting into the rowboat and moving closer and closer to her. She stopped when she was knee deep, waves crashed around her legs. Then, when he was about twenty feet from her, Will jumped from the boat, swam until he could stand, and ran. Just as Elizabeth had done.

They met. They touched. And the world melted away. The past ten years never happened. Their daughter had not run away, and their son was not emotionally compromised. He wasn't the Captain of the Flying Dutchman, and she wasn't alone raising two children. They were in love. They were embracing each other tightly. They were kissing lightly and quickly. He had lifted her right off her feet. He was where he belonged. With her.

"Mommy?" A small, timid voice was behind them, and closer than Elizabeth remembered Trace being. Their moment was over, and she turned to face the confused little boy, whose toes barely touched the water.

Elizabeth looked at Trace, as did Will, who, admittedly, was as afraid and shy as Trace was. She then smiled, and held her arms out to him.

Trace ran into her arms. He hugged his mother. Then, when she sat him down, he turned to the man who looked exactly like his sister.

Elizabeth was still smiling as she said, "Trace, this is your father. Will, this is Trace." Trace stared wide-eyed up at Will, who awkwardly held out his hand, not knowing what else to do.

Suddenly, any bad feelings Trace had for his father drained out of him. He couldn't stop himself. He ran and jumped into Will's arms. This had taken Will by surprise, of course, but when he felt his own son's arms gingerly wrapped around his neck, he sighed and laid his head against the head of the small boy.

They stayed like that for what seemed like hours before finally walking back to the beach. That was when Will realized something was missing.

"Wait," he stopped them as they reached the blanket on the grass where Trace and Elizabeth had been seated before. "Where's Tabitha?" he looked around expecting to see a little girl run to him.

Instead, both Elizabeth and Trace looked at him confused. "Tabitha?" Elizabeth shook her head at him quizzically.

"Jack informed me of a son and a daughter. Maybe he got the name wrong." Before Elizabeth could even consider wondering how Jack found him, grief washed over her. She looked down as she spoke. Trace sat down and stayed quiet.

"Lucia..." she began, "Her name's Lucia." _Lucia_, Will thought to himself. This may well be the best day of his life. This was all before Elizabeth handed him a torn piece of parchment.

~She was shorter than everyone else, but she was not frightened. Lucy wound her way through the crowd of people on the port. She saw many men with rum bottles who staggered and many women with dresses that showed much more of them than she'd like to see, but none of them spoke to her.

She came upon a ship then that was loading wooden crates. She quickened her pace and weaved through everyone rather carelessly. She knew that this may be her last chance.

The crates that were being loaded onto the boat were still in piles to her far right. At that moment, no one was paying much attention to them, (a man was shouting at a sailor for dropping one of them and was drawing a crowd). They were good sized boxes. She could fit. She knew that much.

Lucy seized the lid to one of them, heaved, and it came free with little sound. Inside, there was lumber. _Funny_, she thought to herself as she climbed in, _delivering wood inside of more wood_.

It wasn't particularly comfortable, but she did fit. And she performed this task without being noticed. That was all that mattered. She had counted softly to herself to three-hundred and two before her box was lifted with a lot of huffing coming from whoever was carrying her. The wood crate vibrated around her as the man threw it into the cargo-hold of the ship. She was here. No turning back now.

She thought of how curious this was of a way to spend her birthday. All her life, she pictured this day so differently. Right now, she should be with her father, laughing. What she didn't know that at that very moment, her father, her mother, her brother- none of them were laughing.


	5. Back to Beckett

Will felt terribly responsible. Now, as his wife cried and his son stared at a book, he read the letter again. He had ruined the lives of his family, and he had been home all of two hours.

He hadn't even met the girl yet, but he pictured her to be small and fragile. She was a baby. A baby in a world she wasn't ready for. Will hated himself for letting her do this.

"I've got to find her." His words were said with finality. No one could stop him. He looked at the beautiful woman he loved and the small boy whom his heart swelled with affection for, and was saddened. He wanted to stay here and be with him. But he couldn't say "He wanted nothing more than to stay" because that wasn't true; he wanted to be with his family. Not an incomplete circle.

What an irony this was! Will had indeed expected this situation to be totally the opposite-as anyone would. He honestly thought his son and daughter would have each others

personality. Yet here they were, the boy in a book and the girl off gallivanting with pirates. Serves him right for making naive assumptions.

Elizabeth protested at first, of course, but in the end she knew it had to be this way. The final decision upset them all.

Will pulled Elizabeth in his arms. "I'll be back." He stared into her eyes. She was torn with pain, but Elizabeth was strong. Her eyes, set and determined, proved that. "Maybe not for another ten years, but I swear to you, we will meet again." Then, quieter, he said, "I'm going to get her back." Elizabeth looked as though she had choked back a sob. Tears filled her eyes, but never spilled. Because she was strong.

Then, he turned to his son. His son. He liked the sound of that. Trace was still staring at a book, but not reading it. Not focusing. That was impossible right now.

Will squatted so he was eye-leveled with the boy. Will made no attempt to distract him from his reading. He would wait until Trace was ready to hear this.

Finally, too soon, he looked at his dad.

"Trace," the name just rolled so easily off Will's tongue. This was getting even more difficult. "I'm sure you know that I'm not-" a sigh, "that I'm not coming back. Not for a long time." Trace nodded glumly. "But I'm going to find your sister.

"And I want you to know, from the moment I first heard of you, I've loved you." Trace's face faltered, and he looked as though he may cry, but Will knew he needed to get this out now. He couldn't pause or he wouldn't continue. "You're important to me. Just as your mother and Lucia are." With that, he hugged Trace. Trace hugged him back, tightly. Then, it was over.

Will stood up, ready to leave. But he realized that he couldn't go and find his daughter until-

"What's she look like?" The words sounded pathetic to him. He had children and he had to ask someone what one of them looked like. He felt terrible. Will had truly caused a mess among the family he was supposed to be there for and protect.

Elizabeth smiled a wary smile, the only one she could muster, and walked towards him. She looked into his eyes and sincerely said to him, "She looks like you."

~Lucia was ten years old and clumsy. So, as expected, she was caught. The ship had made it out far enough out to sea that if you squinted toward land, you could just barely see Port Royal. Lucia Turner had made it this far, silent and sustained, but now, as she tried to get herself out of the big box she was stuck in, men on deck were told to check out the noise.

They pulled Lucy out and onto her feet. She kicked and yelled the whole time. "Let me GO! I said let me go right _NOW!" _ She struggled of course, but sixty pounds of a little girl vs. two grown men- that fight had a predictable outcome. When she finally gave in, (not something Lucia Turner did often), the men sat her down and demanded answers.

"What are you doing here?" The taller one asked.

"Who _are _you?" The wider one asked.

The questions went on until Lucia finally spoke up.

"My name is Lucia Wanda Turner. I am ten years of age and I am looking for my father. My mother's name is Elizabeth, I have a brother named Trace, and my father's name is William Turner. Have you seen him recently?" Lucy looked from one to the other. In that instance, the men pulled her to her feet and took her on deck.

Lucia stumbled when her feet reached mahogany floors of a luxurious boat. All men in sight were in red jackets, except for two at the helm of the ship. _Commodore!_ Yelled the large man who helped get Lucia up here. A blue-coated fellow turned. He took quick easy steps, graceful and clean, to where Lucy stood, her arms being held about her, one by the tall one, one by the large one.

When the commodore finally got to the trio, his face made Lucy stifle a laugh. He was so shocked to see the young girl.

"Commodore Damon," the tall one began, "she was found about the ship. She stowed away below deck in a carry-on crate filled with lumber." Commodore Damon stared down at Lucy. She stared right back, as if daring him to accuse her.

"Release her." said the blue-coated man with artificial white hair. Lucy felt her arms drop.

"What is your name and your purpose, Miss?" the commodore bent down to reach her level. Lucia rolled her eyes, annoyed to have to explain the situation again.

She sighed. "My name is Lucia Turner. I am ten years of age, and I'm on a quest to find my father. You should know, though, that my being caught by these two dunderheads was not part of my plan." Commodore Damon didn't laugh, but he did find the girl amusing.

"And what," he smiled patronizingly, "my be your father's name, Miss Lucia Turner?"

"William Turner, Commodore." Lucy knew her appearance was one to laugh at, a young lady in trousers and a too-large hat, but the behavior of those around her annoyed her almost into a stupor.

The commodore stood back upright and talked to the large man. He mumbled softly, but Lucia caught a bit of it, "...and take her to Beckett. He'll be happy to take the girl ashore. He never does anything else." The large man nodded and went to the starboard side of the ship where Lucy saw another man leisurely staring at the open ocean.

Within moments, the large man and the man from the starboard side came to the commodore, the tall man, and Lucy. The man, who Lucy presumed was named Beckett, had a sort of strange look in his eye. They seemed distant, yet focused on Lucy in a way that she had not seen anyone stare in her life. To push nervous thoughts from her mind, she quickly brushed it off as Beckett having just stared at the sun for too long.

Commodore Damon turned toward Beckett. "Mr. Beckett," at only the sound of his name did Beckett stop staring at Lucia to look up, "you will take Miss Turner ashore and see to it that her mother find her please." Without waiting for a reply, Damon turned to head back to where he was standing before, followed by the two 'dunderheads'. Beckett then turned to Lucy.

"I'll lead you to the rowboats, Miss Turner." He smiled a bit as he said her name. In return, she involuntarily shuddered.

After fifteen minutes of minor struggling with ropes, the two were on the ocean, rocking away from the ship, which Lucy noted was called the Ravel.

The silence didn't last long between the two. As he rowed, Beckett spoke. "So your name is Turner?" Lucia nodded. "You and I have a bit of family history, Miss." Then, he stopped rowing, and they were stopped. Instinctively, Lucy turned to see how far away help was. The Ravel was too far away to be heard from. She turned her head slowly back to Beckett.


	6. Beckett's Ship

_Beckett!_ Lucia suddenly realized, going over the name many times in her mind. Finally, it clicked. She recognized it from the stories her mother told her. Beckett was of the East India Trading Company. Beckett murdered her grandfather. Beckett died.

Lucy looked strangely at him. She was not afraid, but confused.

"I know the name." She told him, still with the strangeness about her. "What were you saying about family history?" He smiled. She shuddered.

"You are the daughter of the man and woman who had the biggest hand in my brother's death." Beckett's smile slowly dropped into a sort of snarl. Lucy gasped.

"Who _are _you?" she contained a scream, but the shout escaped. If they would have been on solid steady ground, she probably would have stood up for this exclamation, but she settled for a slight jump back.

"My name," he began, taking his hat off. The man may very well be mad, but he still had a sense of propriety to him when greetings were in order, "is Anderson Beckett. My brother's name was Cutler, and I should suspect you to recognize _that_ name, Miss Turner." There was that grin on his face. Every time he said her name, he would do that. Lucia wished she was somewhere else. Anywhere else- anywhere else but home.

"I do know who he is." Then, more demanding, she asked, "What do you want?" Beckett put his hat back on before replying.

"To take you to your father. Honestly." Then, quickly, as if before Lucy could ask any more questions, he added, "I have a ship. And I know where to find him."

Lucy thought about this. After her conclusion of his words, she looked at Anderson Beckett differently- like he may hold her destiny. She didn't even realize she had agreed. All of her was blinded by the thought of a man being able to take her to her father. No matter his past or his name. They rowed ashore in silence. Lucia's decision was made. She would go with Beckett to her father.

~Will asked a man on the port for the time. 1:30, the man replied. Will had five hours to find Lucy. And he was getting no where.

He was on the main port at this point. He had asked around, of course, but in the end he knew that this search would take more than a few people's supposed sightings. He considered all of this as a massive ship with the word RAVEL painted across the front. This was the commodore's ship. As Will passed crewmen departing from the boat, he could have sworn he heard them muttering something to each other about a little girl stopping the voyage.

He took the chance.

"Excuse me!" He moved through the crowd back to the men, who were moving in the opposite direction. "Excuse me!" Will shouted louder. They heard and turned.

Will was almost out of breath by the time he reached the two. He noted that one was tall, and the other was considerably larger than the tall one. They both looked annoyed already.

"Were you saying something of a little girl?" Will asked. They both, almost simultaneously, rolled their eyes.

"Yeah." The tall one said. "We found a girl in the lumber crates below deck. Said her name was Turner something. Anyway, a girl eight years of age-"

"No," the larger one cut in, "_Ten_ years of age, she said." The tall one glared. The large one looked away sheepishly.

"_Ten _years of age. Yes, so, she had had it in her little dimwitted mind that she was going to find her sailor father. Commodore Damon requested that she be brought ashore. So, she was. Then, the commodore decided we had better come back as well to deliver the news to her parents. So," he held his arms out, gesturing, "here we are. Stopping to track down a confused girl's parents." It was her. Will now knew that Lucy was indeed on the port somewhere. He hastily thanked the men, and turned and left. He now thought he may have enough time to find her, bring her home, and spend the rest of the day with his family.

But this would not be anywhere near that easy. Will searched up and down the docks, through the streets of Port Royal, ultimately wasting two hours. Someone he asked now told him is was a little after three. He was running out of time, and she should be right there. But she wasn't. So, he still searched.

It never occurred to him to check ships. Or anywhere having to do with the water. Because he knew what the men told him. He knew only what they knew, and that was more that what he was going on before. Even if they were wrong.

No, as Will Turner began edging on frantically asking around and looking, he was not aware that his daughter was not on land at all. She was on a ship, captained by a man who had different ideas for Lucia than just to help her find her father. All those who Will asked felt sorry for him. His hunt was going no where and the man looked crazy. He had to find her. He had to.

Will refused to fail Elizabeth again. He failed to live without the responsibility he now bared. He failed to be there during the painful birth. He failed to help her raise two needy children. He failed to keep those kids from being confused. He failed to keep one of them safe. He couldn't fail to bring that one home. It may kill him all over again. Because William Turner knows what it feels like to die.

So he searched.

~Lucia closed her eyes and breathed in the misty ocean air. She envied her father. Everyone who saw his responsibility as a curse had obviously not ever been on the sea. It was beautiful. She wished she could be here forever. With the thought, she smiled. She reminded herself that once her and Beckett found her father, she would stay out here forever, with him. Everything seemed perfect when she kept these aspirations to herself, and because this was what she wanted, she didn't question Beckett.

She still had her eyes closed when someone grabbed her arm from behind and whirled her violently around. She gasped and stared into the face of Anderson Beckett. His eyes were wide and mad.

He held both of her arms tightly at her sides. Lucy was terrified. When he spoke, it was through clenched teeth, "Now, Daddy will _have_ to give Cutler back, won't he?" He shook Lucy. "He can't have his daughter if I can't have my brother." He looked as if he expected Lucia to say something, but she couldn't. She was too aware of the miles of open, empty ocean around her. She was too aware of Beckett's shaking, bruising hands on her arms. She was too aware of her small age of ten. She was too aware of the situation to speak.

He finally got frustrated. He pulled her to the stairs and with a grunt, threw her below deck. A door shut at the top of the stairs. Lucy wanted her mommy.

Her head hurt. She brought a shaky hand to her right temple, where she found blood was leaking. She stared at the blood on her fingers, confused. Because none of this had just happened. She was in her bed, next to her brother's. In the bedroom they shared. It was their tenth birthday. Any minute now, she knew her mother would quietly get them and take them to the beach where they would wait for their father. They would spend a nice day together, and tomorrow, she would wake up and he would be there. He father would watch her and Trace grow up. He would teach her to handle a sword, and even try to teach Trace. Her life would be full and convenient. So, why was she bleeding now? Why was her head hurting beyond belief? Why was she so confused? She asked herself these questions repeatedly, and got no answer.

Lucia thought of her normal life, the pain in her head, and her father that would stay, as she stared at the blood on her hand and laid down on the floor of Anderson Beckett's ship.


	7. What To Do

Through the hectic looking and searching and asking, Will had lost track of time. It was only when a couple, as he hopelessly opened up barrels in an alleyway, passed him by mentioning something about being late. He stopped. Froze, almost. He stood straight up like a robot. He hadn't even been thinking of the time. He was very still for a minute. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, he sprinted towards the couple. They hadn't got very far. He reached and grabbed. The woman had abruptly been yanked back by her arm and was startled. She cursed Will, but he didn't hear. He stared at her.

"Un_hand_ me!" She screamed and ripped her arm from his grip. Her husband scowled at him.

"What time is it?" Will's voice was distant, but solid. The woman scoffed, spat the time at him, and walked off with her husband.

5:50.

It was ten minutes until he would need to be back on the ocean. Ten minutes until he would be back on the Dutchman. Ten minutes left to find Lucy.

But it was too late.

He knew that. He knew what beach the ghostly ship would be waiting at, and how long from the port it would take him. With that, Will ran.

Will ran and scrambled through people who were already annoyed. This couldn't be happening. He had planned this all out, and had decided he should see Elizabeth before returning. Now, he knew he had no time. It took him seven minutes to get to the secluded beach.

Part of him had hoped that maybe Elizabeth had decided to come to his parting, but it was indeed as alone and cold as he knew it would be. And now, he could see the ship he would stay on for another ten years. And out there somewhere, his daughter was unsafe and afraid. And he had failed.

Will failed Elizabeth. Will failed Trace, his son. Will failed himself. Will failed Lucia.

He walked slowly into the ocean, no dignity, no self respect. Nothing but tears running down his face.

Moments later, a green flash could be seen on the horizon.

~Elizabeth died. In that moment that the clock chimed 6, and when the flash of green shot into the air, Elizabeth's heart gave out. She felt herself collapsing. She breathed in quick, shallow gasps, and couldn't grab an ounce of air. She curled into a ball and screamed. Elizabeth just allowed herself to scream her heart, soul, and mind out. She screamed, she sobbed, and clutched the note from Lucy. She had managed to lose her husband all over again. Her daughter was lost somewhere, as well as Trace. But Trace was lost in a different way. Elizabeth feared she would never find him. She was alone, pathetically screaming on her floor. In another room, Trace squeezed his eyes shut, and covered his ears, trying to block out the sound.

~Lucy had always pictured her father to be a brave and strong man. So, at this moment when she was waking up with groggy eyes and a splitting headache, she couldn't have felt more ashamed. She was scared and crying, (or at least she thought she was. It couldv'e been more blood), and she was about as far away from her father as possible.

She didn't know if she could stand. For a while, she didn't think she should even try. Why bother? Since she was sure that Anderson was too mad to find her father, he would probably just kill her. She had gotten herself into a mess. She turned out to be a stupid, wishful thinking ten year old after all.

When she finally did stand up, her confidence was even more diluted when she fell straight back down. _I can't even _stand_ right!_ She thought wildly to herself.

She began to laugh.

It wasn't the kind of innocent laugh she used to laugh, but a sinister mad laugh. All the humor had drained away, and now it was time to get the remaining chuckles out. So she laughed. She screamed with laughter until more tears ran down her cheeks. She pounded the floor. If any grown man had watched, he would have been frightened. It truly was a scary sight. A few hours on the ship, and already she was losing her mind.

Eventually, her frantic giggles turned slowly to quiet whimpers, and then faded out. She sat straight up and stared the wall inside the ship. It was wood, she noted. She took note of this obvious fact many times. She couldn't get a grip of herself.

Then, against the wooden wall, something caught her attention. A rectangular box propped up against it. It seemed too good to be true, so she would have to test it. This time, she gained strength over her legs (and mind) and walked slowly and steadily over to the box. The ship creaked.

She reached out for it, not thinking of anything except for what she suspected was inside. She carefully laid the leather box on the floor, unclasped the two glittery golden hinges, and lifted the top over. A beauty rest inside.

She had a gold jeweled handle. The blade was steel. Intricate designs carved into every part, whispering of heroic victory. She held in a gasp, but settled for a deep breath. She reached in, gingerly took the handle, and pulled the sword out.

It was heavier than she expected. She almost toppled over, but she found her strength again, and stood up straight. She felt proud. She had never held a sword before. And though it had always been her dream for the first sword she came to handle would be one her father introduced to her, she still cherished the moment. She breathed in the smell of the metal. The weight of it felt like Heaven in her small hand. She knew at last, she could make it.

She was so entranced, she didn't hear Beckett come down the steps.

"Having fun?" He asked in a monotonously disturbing tone. Lucia gasped and the sword dropped to her feet. She whirled around as the metallic clash flooded the boat.

Her eyes were full of fear. Wide and shocked. But he smiled wickedly and bent down to retrieve the object. Lucy stayed frozen.

He lifted and admired it. "I was so hoping you'd find it." He chuckled to himself, still looking at the blade. "Because, you see Lucy," then he looked at her quizzically, "it _is _Lucy, right? Or, Lucia, if you prefer. Anyway, I see so much potential in you." He took a hand and grasped her chin. She squirmed under its slimy feel. "We can make a fighter out of you."

"No!" She said suddenly, without realizing until moments later. He was giving her a weird look again, so she quickly explained. "Well, erm, it's just that I had always hoped my er... father... would be the one to teach me to handle a sword." She bowed her head, realizing how young and immature the words sounded out loud. Anderson Beckett laughed.

"Oh, well, I don't think you'll be wanting to find your father with the same passion you used to. I mean, look at what he's done to you!" Lucy's brow furrowed and she cocked her head up towards Beckett. He seemed to be even more confused than she had figured.

She fought the urge to scream _WHAT DO YOU MEAN _HE_?_ and allowed him to continue in explanation.

"Well, look around. You're on a boat, with a man who intends to do you no good. You don't know where on this Earth you are, and you aren't with your dear family. And why?" He smiled, "Because you wanted to meet the man who doesn't want you." Lucy looked down and shook her head. He continued for a second about the man, but she covered her ears, refusing to hear anymore. She didn't see him shrug.

He turned to leave as he said, "Well, when you realize the truth of my words, feel free to come up on deck. But, if not, rot down here. We'll find him anyhow." He laughed again and the door slammed. She took deep breaths and began to feel safe again. She lowered her arms and was left standing there, not knowing what to do.


	8. Rest Easier Tonight

For the first time in a long time, Will sat below deck on the Dutchman. He did this sometimes when he thought about Elizabeth too much. Now, all the burdens weighed down on him so heavily, he thought he may never get up.

Bill Turner had seen upon his son's arrival that he was clearly upset. No discussion was shared, and Will's father allowed him to have his moment.

The thoughts that now ran through Will's head weren't centered around one issue. All of it, Elizabeth's pain, Trace's abandonment, Lucia's being alone, screamed at him. In his head, Elizabeth yelled at him. She told him how terrible he truly was. She told him that if he dared call them his family, she would surely hate him. Trace, in Will's his head, cried out for his father. Will held his arm out to the air, catching nothing. He then brought both of his hands to his head and fought the urge to scream. Because that was when his thoughts turned to Lucy.

She was there, seemingly in reach. She was in a miniature version of a dress he remembered Elizabeth wearing at one point. She just stood there, but her face was blurred. He still didn't truly know her appearance. He was aware of her tears. She was crying. The daughter he had never met was crying. His thoughts drove him wild. He held his head, and allowed himself to sob pathetically by himself.

He indeed felt terrible. He would've chosen death over guilt any time, any day. He would do anything to fix it. Anything.

~She tapped her head rhythmically against the wooden wall. Lightly, of course. Not hard enough that it could actually hurt her. It passed the time. Lucy, at that point, was many things, but not suicidal. She was not one to give up easily.

But she had to admit, after thinking about it for hours, what Beckett said almost made sense. Her father never _was_ there, whether or not it was his choice. No, that wasn't really a reason to hate him, but it certainly didn't necessarily mean that Lucy should harbor any love for him. Should she? You can't love someone you don't know.

She sat with her back against the musky damp wall of Anderson's ship, and all her ten years, her thoughts, her dreams, unraveled before her. All the stories of him saving her mother, him teaming up with pirates, her father giving everything he had to help the lost souls who die at sea, and she had thought of him as a hero. All the times she had watched her mother's expression when she spoke of him, and she had thought of him as a gentleman. All the dreams she had of sword lessons, laughing, making up for lost time, and she had thought of him with that love. But now she was not so sure.

She questioned everything she had considered growing up. She wondered if her childhood had been an entire lie. All of it had been wrapped around him. The anticipation, the excitement, the nerves. But then, they crashed, and she ended up surrounded by stale air and inescapable walls, blood still faintly trickling down the side of her face, and reevaluating her entire life. All because she didn't listen to her brother.

With that thought, her heart slowed, as if suddenly depressed in and of itself. Lucia missed Trace. And her mother, for that matter. They were a family, before the issue of her 'father' came up.

The more she thought of all the elements mixed into this situation, the more she came to realize that Anderson's words whispered more truth than she had considered before. They _were_ a family. Until he so-called father came into the picture. In her anger, she accidentally did hit her head harder than expected. It throbbed even harder.

She stood up. Her decision was made. She suddenly decided she hated William Turner. She suddenly decided that she would go up on deck. She would join Beckett, give him the wonderful news, and he would take her home. He might question her honesty, but he would see in her eyes how passionately indifferent she was toward Mr. Turner.

~Elizabeth's eyes forced themselves open slowly. Very slowly. The groggy state hurt her head. She could barely stand, but she managed it without falling over from the dizziness.

She was just adjusting to the silence when it was rudely shattered by a loud, rapping banging at the door. She slowly moved one foot in front of the other. She felt as though she had just woken up from a year long hibernation. The knocking never ceased. Her head pounded every time the knuckles hit the wood. She clawed her head once or twice before yanking the door open. Jack Sparrow stood in front of her.

She sighed and shuffled to the nearest chair. Jack raised his famous eyebrow, and took it as a sign that he was permitted to come inside. He shut the door behind him, and immediately knew something was wrong.

Elizabeth was a wreck. Her hair knotted and tangled. Her face was pale and her eyes bloodshot, or at least they looked to be in the dim light of one candle. The clock chimed 11:00. This startled Jack. Elizabeth didn't even flinch.

They were in silence, so Jack cleared his throat. "So..." she looked up at him, her eyes were grave and unreadable. Jack sighed and pushed it all out. "So, I didn't William on his big day back." Elizabeth then proceeded to sob. Jack took a step back, feeling uncomfortable and out of place.

Elizabeth sputtered everything, her senses suddenly alive. She wailed about Lucy running away, about Will's desperate search, about her breakdown. _I can't take it_, she yelled to him.

Jack listened to all this. She seemed to be in a lot of pain, and they had been through so much together. And the girl _was_ a little interesting...

Jack stopped his thoughts there. As Elizabeth rambled, Jack was in his head. He wouldn't do it. No. Nothing in this world could make him do such a kind, generous thing. He had better, more productive things to do than hunt down a four foot girl with daddy issues. He of course had to... well... there was, he was sure, a barrel of rum needing to be emptied. And, there were those men on the port he owed money. And then there was the rum again...

"I'll try and find her." Jack said lamely. _Not enough productive excuses._

Elizabeth's eyes got real wide. She stopped blubbering. She stared at him. Jack Sparrow, the pirate who once threatened her life, and the man who she once killed, stood before her, offering to track down her missing daughter- a feat which Will had been unsuccessful in. Filled with hope and sudden giddiness, she couldn't stop herself from flinging herself onto Jack and embracing him as if he had just promised her the world. Because, really, he had.

He was taken aback by her gesture at first but after a bit, he said, "I can't go anywhere with the extra weight, love. Much as I'd _love _to bring you with me." Her eyes snapped open wide. She remembered her place, and returned to her seat blushing. Jack, in spite of himself, smiled.

She made sure he remembered what she looked like. Even when he said yes, she could smell the rum on him, and gave him a detailed description just in case.

Then, he was on his way. His visit lasted all of twenty-five minutes, but it was a productive twenty-five minutes. She now had someone searching for Lucia. She would try to sleep tonight, but she didn't count on having any good dreams. Nightmares would reek havoc in her mind again, but at least she wouldn't wake up to one again.

She climbed the stairs with a new-found strength. No, Lucy was not safe yet, but at least Elizabeth had someone to try to get her back.

Elizabeth herself would try to find her if not for Trace's shaky state. Elizabeth worried about just how fragile his sanity may be at this point. And to be truthful, she was terrified to leave him alone.

Today had been a traumatic day, but Elizabeth would rest easier tonight.


End file.
